


Eye of the Beholder

by RamenHood



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 7 people are dead already, Drama, F/M, I swear, Literature, Murder Mystery, fan fiction, im not insane
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 17:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2356697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamenHood/pseuds/RamenHood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Sherlock X Reader) A string of murders has come to pass, and have eluded the esteemed Sherlock Holmes. Inspector Lestrade takes it upon himself to introduce another detective to the scene at the seventh murder, and tensions arise as the famous duo realize that this newcomer is just as smart and cunning as Sherlock himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seventh

**Author's Note:**

> This work of fiction has been posted previously on Fanfiction.net and Deviantart.com under a different title. (Known as 'Life with a Consulting Detective on FF.net.) I have finally added AO3 to the list and will be uploading chapters regularly until it has caught up to the others.   
> For now, I hope you all like it and are interested in reading more!  
> Enjoy~!

Another dreary day in London. How it always was, and, per usual, there has been a murder on the loose. The police had yet to catch this criminal, even after 5 months and six more murders, the most recent one only being committed the night before this one. Seven murders total. So they called upon two of the greatest minds they could find within the country of England. The esteemed consulting detective Sherlock Holmes; and (Y/N), the genius newbie. (F/N) arrived at the scene in a normal cab, paying with normal money, while dressed in normal clothes. But she was far from normal. The complete opposite in fact. Everyone, even Sherlock, was in for a surprise this evening. (F/N) took confident steps up to the front-door of the normal looking building. She turned the gold-plated doorknob and stepped inside. Flat number B437 was her targeted location for this case. The landlady greeted her with a happy smile; although (F/N) could see the terror in the old woman’s eyes. She told (F/N) where the flat was, and led her up to the door, where they parted ways. The old woman left rather quickly with a skip in her step; wanting to get away from the horror behind the door. (F/N) took a deep breath, and sighed, then turned yet another gold-plated doorknob, and walked into the flat.  
It was a homey flat. Complete with floral wallpaper on the walls, and many different ceramic figurines scattered about the place. Very clean; whomever lived here surely took good care of the place. Not a speck of dust in sight, and surely not the best place to carry out a murder. There were three other people other than (F/N) in the room, all males, which all turned to look silently as she closed the door with soft click. One of the men, the older one, presumably in his late forties or so, with a few grey hairs spread about. He had a serious look on his face as he greeted (F/N) “I’m glad you’re here Miss (L/N). Unfortunately this case calls for two minds instead of one.” He had said. “I’m Lestrade. These two here are Dr. John Watson,” He gestured to the shorter of the two others, who had nodded in acknowledgment. “And Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” The taller one’s head snapped from where he was observing the body at the mention of his name.  
He glared at (F/N) with his grey eyes. She could practically see the thoughts running through his mind as he stepped away from the body. (Which (F/N) noticed that was incomprehensible to tell who exactly it was. She would get a better look eventually.) He came up to her, observing her like he did with the victim. He was thinking out loud as his gaze traveled. “Good shape; fit for anything that comes her way. From the way she holds herself it could possibly be judo or some other type of martial arts. Obviously not accustomed to an office life. Needs a job where she can move about. Cinnamon smell; takes care of herself very well. No family troubles recently. Not a drinker, smoker, or addict of any kind, and from the way you are observing my every move leads me to believe that you are a detective that specializes in murder case trials. Although you are new to the occupation, you have potential.” He stood in front of (F/N) and smirked. “Did I get that right?”  
She raised her eyebrows, and also smirked. “Yes, but you missed one very important detail.”  
“And what’s that?”  
“I’m your biggest rival.”  
Sherlock was at a loss for words for once. No one had ever said that to him, and if anybody had, he wouldn’t have expected it to come from a girl like (F/N) He stared at her for a long moment, but eventually went back to observing the body. The man named John Watson came up to (F/N) and held out his hand. She took it, and shook slowly. “Sorry about him. He’s always like that.” He apologized.  
“It’s quite alright Dr. Watson. I would’ve expected nothing less.” (F/N) answered quietly.  
“Just John is fine.” He said, giving (F/N) a small but hopeful smile.  
(F/N) smiled softly back at him, then turned her attention to Sherlock and the body. It was charred all the way through; impossible to identify the victim without the use of DNA testing. Only a few small details helped. The plain metal plate bracelet on the victims right wrist; the singed keys in the fragile coat pocket; and a designer pen from EMIS. (F/N) kneeled down next to it, and pulled out a pair of rubber gloves, put them on, and carefully pulled the bracelet off. With her thumb, she rubbed off some of the charcoal that had formed from the metal. Something was engraved, but still illegible. When nobody was looking, she stuffed the bracelet in her coat pocket, then busied herself with observing the remains. “That’s odd…” She mumbled out loud.  
“What is it?” Lestrade asked hopefully.  
(F/N) stood up with altering her gaze. “There’s absolutely no burn marks on the floor. Someone brought the body inside after they killed him or her. The killer left that obvious clue. Like they want to get caught.” She told him.  
Sherlock rose to his feet as well, and joined the circle. “Although, since the body is extremely fragile from being burnt to a crisp, the killer couldn’t have moved it far. It had to be moved from somewhere in this building.”  
“Sherlock, are you saying that someone is this building is the killer?” John blurted out, looking up from his notes.  
(F/N) spoke up. “The killer is most defiantly not living in or near this building. They wouldn’t want to live this close to the crime scene. My theory is that the killer broke in, somehow burnt this person to a crisp like a scone gone wrong, moved them here, and escaped out the window.” She finished, gesturing to the nearby closed window.  
“Why the window?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.  
(F/N) stepped up to the window.  “See for yourself.” She said, opening the shutters and pointing outside.  
Both John and Lestrade poked their heads out and looked everywhere and couldn’t find the escape route that (F/N) mentioned. The pulled back inside, even more confused than before. “What exactly are we looking for?” Lestrade questioned.  
“The pipe.” Sherlock pointed out. “The rain gutter drain pipe beside the window. The killer must’ve shimmied down it. Leaving the door locked to make it look like a suicide.” Sherlock sighed as he brushed off his coat. “Lestrade, I’m going to need al of the information you have about this murder sent to my flat pronto. I’m going to go back there and look things over with the other 6 cases. I’ll meet you back home John. Oh, and miss (L/N)?” He said quickly, glancing up at her through his curls.  
“Yes?” She asked warily.  
“Why don’t you come over for some tea. I like to know who I’m working with. John will show you the way.”  
And with that said, Sherlock was gone. Only footsteps down the hall let people know that he was leaving. Lestrade sighed heavily, and cracked his neck. “I’d better get to work on that file then. See yourselves out.” He said, also leaving.  
Only John and (F/N) remained. John scribbled down some last-minute notes while she gave one last look at the body to see if she had missed anything important. The snap of a book closing brought her back to reality, and she looked at John. “Come along Miss (L/N). Might as well go now. Sherlock won’t let us hear the end of it if we dally. I’ll get us a taxi, meet me downstairs in a minute or two.”  
Now (F/N) was the last one at the crime scene. She glanced around at the flat once more, and before she could leave, the floorboards caught her eye. She kneeled down to get a closer look and noticed that there was a very faint ash trail leading from the bathroom to the body. A honk from outside broke her out of her trance once more, and she ran down to the taxi without a second thought.


	2. Visiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So I honestly just never really used AO3, and I kept posting this on other sites. I don't have any excuse, all I can say is I'm so terribly sorry. TT-TT But I'm going to be updating this (hopefully) every day until it's caught up to where it is now.   
> I hope you guys still like this ^~^

She climbed in behind the driver, while John sat beside her. "221B Baker St please." He told the cabbie.

The car started on its journey, while John started a conversation. "So Miss (L/N), what do you think about this situation so far?" He asked solemnly.

(F/N) shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not sure what to think. I've never come across anything like this." She answered.

"With the cases that Sherlock takes on this kind of stuff is normal." John pointed out. "But there's definitely never a dull moment."

"I suppose you've been used to excitement all your life then. Usually the ones that don't have excitement won't even bother talking to Sherlock."

"What excitement? This whole mess started when I met him."

"You've been around danger before you met him though."

John paused for a moment, raising his eyebrows with curiosity. "And how do you suppose that?"

(F/N) smiled. "I don't suppose; I know. Just look at your hands. It's as plain as day. You were a soldier in a war, as well as a war doctor. Not that hard to figure out."

John closed his eyes and chuckled. (F/N) wondered if what she had said was completely wrong. She tilted her head to the side in confusion. As his laughter calmed down, he looked back up at her. "Oh, that's rich." He said quietly.

"What's rich?" She interrogated.

"That's what Sherlock first said to me when we first met."

(F/N) rolled her eyes, and moved her gaze to stare out the window. "I'm not surprised."

The doctor sighed. "So, then," he began. "are you like him?"

"Like who?"

"Sherlock. A 'high-functioning sociopath' as he puts it."

(F/N) shrugged. "That's the one thing I've never been exactly sure of. My observing skills are better that a normal person's, I know that much, yet I don't have as many quirks; if you can call them that; as Sherlock does." She confessed. "And before you ask, I'm not another consulting detective."

John laughed once more. "Yet the more you talk, the more you remind me of him."

(F/N) couldn't say anything else, being cut off by the cabbie stopping the car and announcing that they had arrived. John and (F/N) both climbed out of the car; the army doctor paying the man, and the car driving off. (F/N) stared up at the building; noticing it looked too normal for a person like Sherlock, but then again, John also lived there. He led the way up to the door and held it open. "Ladies first." He said.

(F/N) stepped through the doorframe, but stopped to wait for John, who followed soon after. He led the way up the staircase and through the flats front door. The first thing that caught (F/N)'s eye was the skull sitting on the mantle above the fireplace. "Curious" She thought, but paid it no mind. Looking around a bit more, she noticed some boxes cluttered in the corner of the flat. All in all, it was a very quaint place. "John!" Came Sherlock's voice from somewhere else in the flat. "I need a favor!"

John sighed heavily and answered. "What now?" He asked as he followed the voice.

This left (F/N) standing alone in an unknown flat with two men she barely even knew. She went over to the skull and lightly brushed her fingers over the top. "That's a friend." Sherlock's voice came from directly behind her.

(F/N) jumped slightly and slowly turned around to face him. "What?" She interrogated; her nerves beginning to crack.

"A friend. Well…I say friend…" He mumbled, and took a few steps back.

(F/N) finally got a good look at her co-worker. Possibly thirties, tall and lanky, although fit. Dark wavy mop of hair accentuating his grey eyes. He wore basic suit pants and polished shoes, complete with a collared dark purple button up shirt. (F/N) wasn't amused. "What am I doing here?" She asked flatly.

"For tea, of course. Plus, I need you for something. John, another favor, can you get miss (L/N) here a cup of tea. I need to fetch something."

She could hear John coming in from the other room. He looked at (F/N). "I guess you can make yourself at home. Do you like Earl Grey?"

(F/N) sat on the nearest chair, and crossed her legs. "Just a small one would be nice, thank you. Is he always like that?"

"Yes, although this is one of his slow days."

She looked down and fiddled with her fingers, John came back into the room with a cup of warm tea in his hands, and carefully handed it to (F/N). A few moments later Sherlock returned to the room with a thick suitcase, which he placed on the table and opened it up. He removed what looked like to be a microscope. Setting it up, he held his free hand out to (F/N). She looked him up and down with a completely confused facial expression. "What?" She asked again.

"The bracelet."

(F/N) breath caught in her throat. How could he possibly have known that she had taken the bracelet? Oh yeah, because he's Sherlock Holmes. There was no way that she could possibly try to outsmart him now that he knew. (F/N) stared at Sherlock and his hand. He glanced up at her eyes. He spread his fingers wide and put extra emphasis on his hand. She sighed and stuck her hand in her pocket, only to draw it out not a second later, revealing the small metal plate bracelet. Sherlock snatched it out of her hand and swiftly put it under the microscope. "How'd you figure that I took it?" (F/N) asked anyways, already knowing the answer.

"Pfft." He scoffed. "Did you really believe that I wouldn't notice? For a woman of your; can I say stature; you're awfully unobservant Miss (L/N)."

"Can you all stop with the 'Miss (L/N)' already? It's getting annoying. If you really need to call me something, call me (F/N)."

"Ah so that's your first name. I wondered. Lovely, now I don't need to spend as much time talking."

(F/N) groaned. "Prick." She said under her breath.

"Please do be quiet (F/N) you're disturbing the peace. I'm trying to figure this out."

She stood up and walked over to Sherlock, towering over his sitting form. "Maybe if you would let me have a look like I would have done back at my flat, it would have been cleared up by now." (F/N) told him arrogantly.

"How would you go about this then?" He asked, leaning back in his chair.

(F/N) snatched the bracelet out from the machine, and went over to the sink. A few drops of soap later and the turn of the faucet knob, she had the bracelet swimming in soapy water. At seeing this, Sherlock freaked. He stood a little too quickly and knocked over the chair. "Before you say anything," (F/N) stopped him. "you might want to consider the fact that you need to clean it of any debris first." She informed him.

(F/N) then took out the bracelet and wiped it clean with a nearby napkin. She brought it back over to the seat where she was previously sitting, and held the bracelet in the lamplight. "By any chance do either of you have any shaving cream? Or something like it?" (F/N) questioned out loud, not yet averting her gaze. "Or maybe a paper and pencil would be easier to find. Either is fine."

John stepped over and handed her a scrap of paper and a freshly sharpened pencil. "Thank you John." She said, then laid the paper on top of the metal, and proceeded to rub the pencil to-and-fro across the paper. Letters began to appear where the pencil skipped over the shallow grooves. Once (F/N) was done, she looked the paper over. It was still hard to read, but this version was able to be read by the naked eye. "'Carter…Holland.' And there's a heart after the name. I believe we have the name of the victims spouse." She announced with a smirk on her face.

Sherlock was dumbstruck, but impressed nonetheless. Casting that thought out of his mind; he continued to think about the case. "John, I'm going to city hall. I need to find the wife of Carter Holland. I'll be back soon." He announced, grabbing his coat and scarf, then went on his way.

(F/N) sighed, and switched out the bracelet in her hand for her cup of tea, and took a sip. "Does he always do that?" She questioned John.

He nodded in response. "All the time."


	3. Evidence

Silence filled a room once more. (F/N) was getting ancy, she needed to be doing something. Her knee began to bounce uncontrollably as she waited. John noticed her discomfort. "Do you want to look at the other cases?"

"Yes please." (F/N) answered immediately with relief.

John flipped through some papers on the coffee table in front of him, and handed six files off to (F/N). "There you are. They should be in order with the first murder on top, the next underneath, and so on. The file for the most recent one should arrive in the next hour or so." John informed her.

She nodded in understanding, then opened up the top file, and began reading. The first murder was a basic gunshot wound to head. A simple bullet to the temple with a 45 caliber pistol. Pamela Carr was 31 years old and had been married for 3 years. She was a healthy young woman; no children, free from any longstanding illnesses, and had a stable job in the banking business. No killer was named, and (F/N) doubted that any of the murder cases would. There wasn't any real reason that she should have been killed. (F/N) let that thought settle as she grabbed the next file.

This one was for a Nora McCarthy. Aged at 33, recently remarried after her divorce 3 years ago. Again, no serious problems with any aspects of her life. She was killed by a heavy dose of arsenic. This was very different than the first murder, and nobody would expect that these murders are connected. But (F/N) and Sherlock thought different. Although this one seemed more plausible, with the ex-husband murdering the woman out of jealousy; that she had found another lover. But that was just jumping to conclusions.

The next file belonged to an Annette Hansen; 30 years old, a small case of asthma, happily married for 3 years, and killed by a snapped neck. Nothing very serious, a basic murder. But again, no killer name, or evidence left to give any clue as to who it was.

File number 4 was Tammi Rendon. 28 years old and newly married, only been in a relationship for 7 months. She had been killed by electrocution; no blood, guts, or gore of any kind. The bodies functions just shut down after going through that kind of sudden jolt. Which is exactly what happened to Tammi.

The fifth file was a woman that had been 29 years old and married for one year. Her name was Eva Morris. She was stabbed in the throat by a long icicle. The killer was efficient with this murder. By using that sharp shard of ice, it had melted by the time that the police had arrived, effectively getting rid of the weapon and not having to do anything to do it. By this point, if the killer was the same person, he or she seemed to be experimenting with ways to kill someone. Some obviously being more humane than others.

This point was upheld by the last file. Number 6 containing the information of May Hughes. 34 years old and having been married for seven years without a hitch. Death by basic strangling. The victim was choked by a fishing line around the throat, and then hoisted up by the neck.

It seemed to (F/N) like the murderer was experimenting, if all of the killings were done by the same man or woman. To anyone else it would seem like that was the truth, but there was one small detail that normal people out there overlooked: that the victims were all younger woman, and they were all married. None of the marriages were in danger of divorce however. (F/N) spread all of the files open before her, and closed her eyes. John had noticed by now that she was thinking like Sherlock would. He decided to speak up. "How do you suppose you're going to figure this whole thing out by not looking at the files?" He asked.

"I already looked at them. If I look any more my mind will start creating ridiculous outcomes. From what I remember by reading them once is enough for me."

"You remind me so much of Sherlock."

(F/N) groaned. "Please don't compare me with that odd fellow. True, he is smart, but he does go about things somewhat drastically."

John laughed. "You can say that again…"

She smirked, then went on exploring her thoughts pertaining to the murders. She knew it was the same person. It had to be. It was too coincidental that all of these victims were married woman. If the killer was a woman, she might have the reason that she is jealous of all of these young and married women; never being able to find love herself. But on the other hand, if it was a man, he might also be jealous, because all of the women that other men had found to love themselves, he felt like everyone of them should suffer like him. Maybe (F/N) was delving too deep into things. Both of those ideas sounded ridiculous. Everything seemed to fit, but they had no idea where to being to find the name of the murderer. "John, where did Sherlock go again?" (F/N) asked out of the blue.

"City hall. Why?"

"Hm. Where would one go to find out the family and friends of a murder victim?"

The doctor was silent for a moment. "I suppose down to Scotland Yard." He answered.

(F/N) sprung to her feet, grabbed her coat, and ran out the door. John chuckled at the sight. "It's like having a female Sherlock around." He pointed out.

(F/N) on the other hand had quickly gotten a taxi out to Scotland Yard. She asked where Sherlock was just so she wouldn't run into him. Seeing him now would cause her to lose some of the valuable notions that she had come up with. Just thinking about him made her train of thought go all screwy. (F/N) shook her head to rid herself of the thought, while the taxi soon pulled up to the front of Scotland Yard. She paid the man, and walked inside up to the front desk. The clerk was there waiting. "Hello. May I help you?" The woman behind the desk said.

"Yes, is Lestrade in?"

The woman clicked something on the computer. ((F/N) decided not to go into the details of her personal life, for that would just make the situation dull.) "Yes, I do believe so. He should be in his office. Down the hall, to the left, and the second door to your right."

"Thank you." And with that, (F/N) was off to see Lestrade.

Two minutes later, she walked in on Lestrade talking to an unknown woman. The woman was dark skinned, tall, very curly hair. Make-up rushed on, had a late morning. (F/N) didn't delve any deeper however. Women like their space and secrets. The woman seemed like she was mad. She was talking on and on about a subject that didn't interest (F/N) whatsoever, so she blocked it out of her thoughts, and just waited for their conversation to be over. They hadn't even noticed (F/N) walk through the doors though. She closed the door, and leaned against the wall. The sound alarmed both people currently in the room, and they both turned to look. "Miss (L/N). I didn't know you were coming up." Lestrade pointed out.

"I'm sorry for the short notice, but I found something that might be of use. I had to come immediately on two reasons. One; I could loose the thought, and two; I made sure that Sherlock wasn't here."

Lestrade scoffed. "Good. Oh, ah, I suppose you two haven't met. Miss (L/N), this is sergeant Donovan. Donovan, this is (Y/N). She's working with Sherlock on the charred murder case." He informed the two.

"You're working with Sherlock?" Donovan sneered. "I doubt it. If I had to guess you're just a pawn in his little game." She said, taking a step forward to (F/N).

"No. I'm not working for him. If I had to work with that idiot, I'd most likely go mad."

"If you're not working for him, then what do you do?"

"I could point out everything you've done from last night to this morning but I won't bore you with the details. I'm not as straightforward as the idiot. I like to keep silent what I know people don't want to hear."

"Hm. So another Sherlock then. This is gonna be fun…" Donovan said sarcastically, then went to the door. "We'll talk more later Lestrade. I'll give you time with the second Sherlock here."

And with that, she was gone. (F/N) turned back to Lestrade as he sat down in his chair behind his desk. "So what is it that you wanted to tell me?" He asked, grabbing some papers off his desk.

"Those six other cases that you sent files to Baker St. I was looking over them and I came across something. All of the victims were female."

"We know that."

"And were happily married with no hitches in their relationships."

Lestrade paused, and stared up at (F/N). She noticed that he had almost dropped the papers he was holding. Once he regained his composure, he tapped the edges of the papers onto the table, straightening them out. He also cleared his throat before he spoke. "So…you think that these murders are somehow connected?"

(F/N) nodded. "Yes. Although I believe the idiot has already known that for a while now. He just neglected to tell you." She informed him.

Lestrade set his papers down, and shook his head. "I guess…that's sort of a relief then. This way we don't have seven different killers to catch, only one."

"However, he is a smart one."

He nodded. "True. Thank you for stopping by. We'll take this information into account. Is there anything else that you need while you're here?"

(F/N) thought for a moment. "Actually yes. I would like to see the keys and the pen that we found on the latest victim's body. If you don't mind." She asked.

Lestrade stood and led (F/N) out the door and down the hallway. They came up to another room at the end and Lestrade walked through. (F/N) waited outside, and a couple minutes later, he came back with two plastic bags in hand. One containing the keys, and the other, the pen. They were simple objects, but they could be used to find out more about the victim and what she did for a living. Maybe something that she did at her workplace caused a possible co-worker to lash out. Nothing was set in stone just yet though. "Thank you. I'll have these returned as soon as I can." (F/N) assured him.

Lestrade nodded in agreement. "Keep them as long as you need. Just make sure that Sherlock doesn't steal them."

(F/N) smirked. "Thank you again. I'll keep that in mind. I'll be leaving now then. Goodbye." She turned on her heel and walked back out the way she came.


	4. Lead

(F/N) took another taxi on her way back to her flat. It was located at 173A Winchester Rd. The others would be expecting her back sometime; she did leave without much notice, and she had to thank John and, regrettably, Sherlock for having her over. Before then, however, she would spend a few minutes looking at the two pieces of evidence. (F/N) went to the door and unlocked it, walking inside and closing the door behind her. The flat was very basic, but cluttered with all of her random things. With the way (F/N) acted people would expect her to be well-organized, but in truth, she was the exact opposite. She had a system to the mess however. Everything was spread out where she could see it. (This made it easier for finding things quickly) Her kitten; Tenshii; jumped up into her lap as she sat down. Clearing off a spot on her desk, (F/N) grabbed the keys and pen from their bags and set them beside each other. She started with the keys.

There were 3 keys on the keyring. One most likely for her flat or house; another for her vehicle (from the design (F/N) drew the conclusion that it was a 2011 Bentley. A nicer car than one would normally see on the common street) and the last one had an unknown purpose. A safe perhaps? No, it was too big for that. A vault of some kind? Possibly job related?

(F/N) let that sink in as she turned to the pen. The little black and white kitten played with the shiny keys. She laughed and turned back to the other object at hand. It was a expensive looking pen. There were letters engraved on the side of the casing. E-M-I-S. A company name? She pulled out he laptop and clicked the internet icon, then typed in the same letters. The first result was a government agency. 'England Murder Investigative Services.' The mysterious vault key was sounding like a good assumption. (F/N) closed her laptop with a snap, then headed to the door. Tenshii wandered into the other room as she rose to her feet. Before leaving however, she put her hair in a bun, holding it together with a pair of chopsticks she received from her grandmother. (F/N) walked back outside. She realized that John and Sherlock lived only a couple of blocks away. A five minute walk. She sighed and went on her way. Not soon after, she found herself back at 221B Baker St once again, but this time ringing the bell. John's voice came over the speaker. "Hello?" He asked, his voice fuzzy.

"Hi, it's me again. May I come back in? I found something that might be of use."

"Of course. Come right up."

The door clicked open and (F/N) walked in. She quickly ascended the stairs and walked into the flat. As soon as she entered however, hands grabbed her shoulders and spun her around slowly. It was Sherlock. "Her name was Jessica Holland." He said out of the blue.

"The victim, I presume. Now that we cleared that up, can you let me go now?"

Sherlock released his grasp immediately and darted off to do something else. (F/N) rolled her eyes. "Anywho, I thought you would be happy to know that I looked at some of the other evidence when I visited Lestrade."

"You went to see Lestrade?" Sherlock questioned. "John, you didn't tell me."

"You didn't ask." He said simply.

(F/N) sighed. "Yes. Didn't you notice that I had left?"

"No, it wasn't that important."

"What if I was killed by the murderer on my way? Would I be important then?"

"You wouldn't be killed! You're not married!

"The killer might no know that! For what your reputation says, you're surely not living up to it right now!"

Sherlock huffed, and was at a loss for words. He stomped off to the other room. (F/N) turned back to John and sat it the nearby chair. He was staring at her with an obviously flabbergasted expression. She glared back at him intensely. "What?" She snapped.

"I-I've never seen anyone talk to him like that before."

"He should learn to take everything into consideration." (F/N) said sternly. "Now then, back to the subject that I originally came here to talk about. When I was looking the evidence over, on the key ring was an unknown key, and the pen was from the 'England Murder Investigative services. E.M.I.S. I believe the victim worked there and the key went to something at her job."

John held up a finger. "Wait, so you're saying that something at EMIS might have caused all of this?"

"Well, no, not exactly, what I'm saying is that there is a slim chance that something there might give us clue as to who killed her."

(F/N) knew that Sherlock had heard everything. She held up three fingers and counted down. Hitting zero, the man in question rushed out of the other room. He was already putting on his scarf and jacket. "Come along John. We're heading off to the EMIS headquarters. You too (F/N)"

"Me? Why me?"

Sherlock stopped and turned to her; his face only inches from hers. "You're the one that has the key." He said softly.

"Not with me. It's at my flat."

"Which is…?"

"173 Winchester Road."

"Good. It's not far. We'll walk there, then get a cab." He finished quickly, then walked out the door. (F/N) had John followed suit.


	5. EMIS

Sherlock waited for them outside of (F/N)'s flat door,pacing. She hurriedly went inside and grabbed the keys and pen, ran a hand over Tenshii who was snoozing away on the chair, and returned outside to find a taxi waiting. The trio climbed in and the car drove off. "(F/N) can I see the key ring?" Sherlock asked, not even sparing a glance to the girl. A shuffle of fabric and a jingle later, the keys were in his possession and he was observing them quite intently.

The rest of the ride; about 20 minutes; was uneventful, not a single word being uttered. John knew better than to interrupt Sherlock, and (F/N) could care less; she just didn't feel like talking. Time passed slowly but surely, and the trio soon found themselves at the front gates to EMIS. It was a white building; completely bare and very boring. Obviously government material. At the gates was a gatekeeper. "State name and business." He said authoritatively.

Sherlock stepped up. "Mycroft Holmes, just popping in for a look around." He said. "These are a couple of my subordinates. They wanted to have a look around as well." He handed the man a card.

The gatekeeper took it and looked over the information. He nodded in approval. The trio waltzed in nonchalantly. Once they were out of sight, Sherlock dashed to the doors and barged in. The others followed much more quietly. (F/N) leaned to the side slightly to talk to John. "Why did he use his brothers name?" She questioned.

"He doesn't like to use his own, plus his brother has access to pretty much anything in London." He answered. "Hang on, how did you know he had a brother?"

"I've met Mycroft before. We talked; one subject being family."

"Why were you talking to Mycroft?"

She paused. "Long story…" (F/N) sighed, and her attitude suddenly plummeted. "I'll tell you sometime. Just not now, we've got work to do. Let's ask the front desk and see where her office is."

They walked to the desk, where Sherlock was already there, no doubt asking the same thing they were going to. (F/N) overheard the conversation. "Could I go visit Jessica Carter's office? I got a message from her the other day asking me if I could fetch something." Sherlock lied.

(F/N) had to admit, he was a good actor. But then again, so was she. Both her and John stepped up behind Sherlock as the clerk pointed them in the right direction. The office was on the first floor, and at the end of the east hallway to the right. Sherlock left immediately, John said thank you, and the trio went to the office to begin the search. As they walked in however, the whole room was a disaster. Papers were strewn across the room, along with pencils and pens, all of the contents of the desk weren't in the desk anymore. (F/N) halted. "Someone ransacked the place. They were looking for something." She said to herself.

Sherlock kneeled down and sifted through the various papers on the floor. The papers varied from official documents to scrawled out reminders. (F/N) looked up and down the walls for any evidence, and John stood in the doorway, taking note after note. She looked the walls up and down, finding nothing but a few specks of stripped paint and some drips from when it was freshly painted. However, there was a large picture on the wall, a common Van Gogh painting. (F/N) wondered, and lifted the picture a few inches from the wall. There it was! A safe! "Sherlock, take a look at this." She got his attention.

He immediately jumped to his feet and walked over. Together, they took the painting down and set it gently down. A safe was retro-fitted into the wall, and a single keyhole and a handle was all that was showing. (F/N) pulled out the key out of her pocket and held it up to the hole. She slowly pushed it in and turned the metal. A soft clink signaled that the door had unlocked. "It worked." She sighed.

Sherlock pulled open the door. A lone envelope was all that was in it. He grabbed it, and opened it up. I the envelope, there was a slip of paper and a photo. In the picture, a happy couple were laughing together in a park. They looked so happy together. "Jessica." Sherlock pointed out, then went to the paper.

(F/N) grabbed the photo from him and examined it. If Sherlock was right, Jessica was the woman in the picture. She looked so happy, almost blissful sitting next to the man, who (F/N) assumed was her husband. Carter Holland was his name. She made a mental note to find this man and talk to him. Find out anything and everything she could about Jessica. They looked so happy though. It was hard to think that someone would kill her out of cold blood. (F/N) put away the photo for later, then turned her attention to Sherlock and the paper. It was a letter of some kind.

Dear Jessica,

How are you? I'm doing fine. Getting through day after day is hard though…it's hard enough with you not here with me anyways. But I'm doing it for your sake. I hope you're well, and the cat as well. How is Misty doing by the way?

Over here has been hectic. I don't think I'll be able to make it home for the holidays. However, the research will be finished soon and I will return home.

I'm excited to see you again. Have one of your famous apple pies ready for me when I get home.

Love, Carter.

A sappy love note. She probably kept it for a reminder, or a keepsake. Just to help her get through tough times. (F/N) grimaced at the note; she wasn't a fan of the gooey love letters. They were too-how would she put it- fluffy is a good word. "It's seeming too much like a suicide. The police better not interfere or they might get the wrong idea." She mentioned.

"That's what I was just thinking." Sherlock said, throwing the letter over his shoulder and into the pile on the floor. "But we all know that they will anyways. At least Lestrade listens to me sometimes. I think we're done here. John, follow me to the parking lot."

"Why the parking lot?" He questioned.

Sherlock turned to his friend. "Her car might still be there and we have the keys."

The trio walked quickly to the pavement outside; the dark clouds above signaled a storm was on it's way; and the whole building was in the shadow of the cloud. There were quite a few cars here, each looking about the same as the next. They were all either white or black. "We're looking for a 2011 Bentley." (F/N) mentioned, knowing it would help as no one else knew what type of car it was.

A few moments later, Sherlock's hand shot out and pointed to the right quite a ways up. "There. That white car." He said, then ran off.

Both John and (F/N) followed after him as usual. She pulled out the second key and opened up the car doors. It was the same situation as the office. Things were strewn about with no order to them. A cup of coffee was spilt across the passenger's seat, leaving a dark stain. (F/N) scratched her head in confusion. Why would someone do this? There was absolutely no reasoning to it. She hoped they could find out the culprit soon. There was no need for any more pointless murders. She shook her head to rid it of the thought and went to work sifting through things.

Ten minutes later, nothing of importance was found, and the trio backed away from the car and made their way slowly back to the building. A few drops of rain were beginning to fall. "There is one last place to check." Sherlock said. "The victim's own place of residence."

(F/N) stopped him. "Actually, there's two places. The house, and we can hunt down the husband, Carter or whatever his name is, and question him." She said almost obviously.

Sherlock bonked his forehead. "Of course. I had forgotten about Carter. John, can you go to Lestrade and find out where Carter Holland is currently staying. He's obviously not going to stay at their house, it would cause him too much pain. (F/N) and I will head over to the house and check out the scene for ourselves." He ordered.

John paused for a moment, staring at his friend. "You're sure you and (F/N) can handle yourselves? You two don't seem to get along very well."

"As long as neither of us talk very much, I don't think there will be a problem." (F/N) pointed out, glaring at Sherlock.

The consulting detective rolled his eyes, and looked away. "Fine." He grumbled, and continued on his way.


	6. Search

Silence.

No words, no breath, no occasional cough.

Nothing.

Nothing except for the rumble of the engine as the taxi rolled along. The tension between the pair in the taxi could be felt even by the cabbie; who took occasional glances into the back seat.

(F/N) kept a fixed stare on the outside world, skimming through all of the evidence that they had fond so far. Sherlock, on the other hand, didn't have a focused gaze, but rather his light of sight was all over the place; every so often lingering on the form of (F/N) next to him. He also was running through the facts, but was considering the idea of the amateur working with him. To him, she was almost impossible to be in the same room together. Sherlock wondered if that's how people saw him. He paid that idea no mind and cast it out. The consulting detective closed his eyes for what seemed like only a sole moment, but when he opened them again, (F/N) was getting out of the taxi. They had arrived at the house. Sherlock didn't linger. He hurried out of the car, his coat flowing behind him, and trotted to the front door. (F/N) pulled out the key, and the pair was soon in the flat and looking around.

As with the other scenes, this one was no different. There wasn't any words to describe the flat. It was too disheveled to say exactly what happened. (F/N) sighed heavily and didn't look forward to the work they had to do, but went ahead, cracked her knuckles, and got down to business alongside Sherlock.

She sifted through many piles of business papers, receipts, letters, and many other different types of documents and such. Every once and a while they would find something that seemed important at first, but then after some careful evaluation, they turned out to be the same as all of the others. Worthless.

That was only the first room. The next one they checked, the kitchen, was also ruined. With the contents of the cabinets, drawers, and shelves spilled over the floor, table, and counters. (F/N) stepped into the room before Sherlock, and slipped on a stray puddle of some unknown food. Expecting a harsh landing in the gunk below, she closed her eyes and braced herself.

The landing, nor the food, came. (F/N) only felt a strong hand around her wrist. She peeked one eye open, and saw only the floor about three feet away. She turned her head, and saw Sherlock. He had caught her wrist before she fell to the ground. The consulting detective pulled her up to her feet, and stepped into the room before her. (F/N) massaged her wrist, which was just a little sore from his strong grip. "Thank you." She said softly, not even sure that Sherlock could hear her.

He didn't respond, but (F/N) could swear that she saw Sherlock smirk to himself. She rolled her eyes, but got to work. Pulling on some spare latex gloves she had in her pocket, (F/N) picked apart some of the food residue on the counters, almost sure there wouldn't be anything there, but it wouldn't hurt to be thorough.

Sherlock went through the cabinets and everything else. Still nothing was found.

Then the bathroom.

Then the bedrooms.

Even the hallways.

There was nothing here that could be used as solid evidence. It was just a ransacked flat with nothing of any use. (F/N) sighed, and rubbed the back of her neck. "I guess we should head back then. It doesn't seem like there's anything of use here." She said, taking a step back towards the front door.

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Check everything again. We have to make sure we didn't miss anything." He told her, and immediately went to work again.

(F/N) sighed again. "Fine…but you're checking the food this time."


	7. Dinner

An hour more had passed by the time the pair had finished searching for the second time, and they had found nothing out of the ordinary. (Other than the room being out of sorts.) (F/N) sighed in exhaustion, while her stomach growled in hunger. It was 9:00 at night, and was much after the usual time that (F/N) had dinner. Sherlock took this into account as they both left the building. Normally, he wouldn't care about people, other than John, but (F/N) interested him. He had never met anyone like her. She could be intolerable sometimes, and was almost constantly arguing with Sherlock. But he could not for the life of him figure her out. An enigma; what Sherlock called her. If he could just get past the tough shell that she put around herself he was sure to find something out. And he knew just how to go about that. "(F/N)." He said, getting her attention as she looked up and down the road for a nearby taxi.

"Hm?" She acknowledged, not looking at him.

"I was curious on whether or not you would let me treat you to dinner. I did keep you from home and it's the least I could do in return for helping today."

She gave him a look that could only be one of utter confusion and surprise. "I never expected you to be gentlemanly. But I'll take you up on that offer." She reluctantly agreed, flagging down a taxi. The pair climbed in as Sherlock told the cabbie their next destination. "So where is this 'dinner' you're treating me to?"

Sherlock smirked. "You'll see."

Not long after, the taxi stopped at a quaint little restaurant that wasn't far from Baker street. An Italian restaurant by the looks of it. Of course Sherlock knew (F/N)'s favorite, she wasn't surprised in the slightest. A fraction of a smile graced her face as the pair walked inside and a man of bigger stature led them to a table in the window. "Why hello Sherlock! So nice to see you again! And with a lady this time! I knew you had it in you!" The man had greeted him.

(F/N) looked away and Sherlock scoffed. "It's not a date Angelo I'm just treating her to dinner for the help today." He had said.

Angelo paid no notice, and turned his attention to (F/N). "Hello dear. I'm Angelo, I run this restaurant." He stuck out his hand for her.

She shook his hand lightly. "I'm (F/N). Nice to meet you. If you don't mind my asking, how do you know Sherlock?"

The man let out a small laugh. "Most everybody in London knows of Sherlock, but I had the honor of having Sherlock help me out of getting executed. I'm in his debt."

"Angelo, you went to jail anyway." Sherlock chimed, crossing his arms.

"Nevermind him…" Angelo laughed again. "I'll leave you two to choose whatever you want. And as always Sherlock, it's on the house." And with that, the heavy-set man left to the kitchen.

(F/N) scoffed. "I knew you took me somewhere to your advantage." She said. " 'It's on the house'…why am I not surprised?"

Sherlock smirked once again. "Quite right. I knew you would figure it out. Now I suggest you to choose what you would like quickly, Angelo will return in a few minutes."

(F/N) rolled her eyes, then went ahead and glanced at the menu. All Italian dishes. She wasn't starving; she didn't need to get a heaping dish of pasta or something, although just a side dish would prove to be too small to satisfy her hunger. Scanning the list over and over quickly, (F/N) decided upon a small bowl of fettuccine alfredo and a glass of wine. Sherlock ordered nothing but a glass of water. Angelo had come over had taken their order quickly, while setting down a small candle in between the two. (F/N) rolled her eyes and sighed, in obvious annoyance. "He always does that whenever I bring someone along." Sherlock pointed out.

"And that's supposed to make the situation better how?" She questioned, raising an eyebrow. "You've been here with John a few times, I know that. When you say that Angelo does this every time it leads me to believe that you had a candle between you two as well. Now, I'm not saying I go against homosexuality, but I find it odd that he would put a candle here with us as well."

"John and I are merely flatmates, nothing more. Angelo makes many mistakes. Don't pay it any mind."

"Hmmph." (F/N) huffed, but didn't delve any deeper into the subject.

Angelo had come over and placed a plate of wide noodles with a creamy sauce in front of (F/N). "Could I have some parmesan cheese to go with this please?" She asked.

He nodded, and quickly went off and fetched a small shaker and set it beside (F/N)'s food. She nodded her thanks. Angelo went off to do something else and she lightly sprinkled the shaved cheese over her pasta. The next thing she did surprised even Sherlock. (F/N) took the chopsticks out of her hair, and let the (H/L) (H/C) locks droop around her face. She began to eat with the chopsticks. Sherlock had inhaled a little too quickly as her hair fell, but he gave it no mind, and was completely pre-occupied with the fact of (F/N)'s eating habits. "I suspect you're wondering why I'm using chopsticks?" She mentioned after she swallowed her first bite.

Sherlock huffed. "You have a fork at your hands, I find it odd that you use your chopsticks that were holding up your hair to eat." He said.

"I've never used any other utensil to eat any type of noodles with. It was the way I grew up. And these are from my grandmother, they hold memories. As well as a few other uses." (F/N) informed him, taking another bite.

"Such as?"

"The two latter, if used correctly they can be weapons, and they have hidden lock picks inside them that I can use at my disposal. So, as you can see, these chopsticks are very useful." (F/N) smirked at Sherlock, then went back to eating once more.

Sherlock was impressed. He had never thought that chopsticks were useful for anything other than eating. This (F/N) character was a interesting one. He was beginning to warm up to the girl. Sherlock no longer saw her as an annoyance, merely an equal. A person that could hold an interesting conversation, and not like anyone else. No one else knew how their sociopath minds worked; they only had each other on that level. He had stared at her all the while he was thinking, taking occasional sips of his water. (F/N) didn't pay him any mind, and was pre-occupied with her food at the moment. Sherlock began to let his eyes wander from her face. Her hair was a beautiful (H/C) color, and framed her face nicely. Wait…what was he thinking? She was no more than a co-worker, nothing more, nothing less. By the time that this case was over (F/N) would go back to her old life and Sherlock to his; going their separate ways and seeing nothing of each other except for a pass by on the sideway maybe. He shook his head to rid it of the thought, but it still lingered in the back of his mind. In the ten minutes that silence flooded the booth, (F/N) had finished her pasta and was sipping at her wine. It was too quiet for her however. "Can we talk about something? I don't care what, but something. It's too quiet." She broke the silence.

Sherlock glanced in her eyes. "Is the silence bothering you?" He asked.

(F/N) nodded. "Never liked silence." She said quietly, her attitude suddenly dropped. "It brings back memories…that I'd rather not want to remember…"

The atmosphere around the pair suddenly went from oddly cheerful to a dull sadness. Sherlock looked upon (F/N) with a regretful expression. "I'm sorry." He said, unsure of what else to say.

(F/N) shook her head. "It's not you. My past is the problem." She said simply, staring into her glass.

"Would it help to talk about it?"

"I'm not sure. I've never told anyone outside my family."

"It would help you find some resolve in the matter."

(F/N) laughed once. "I guess you're right. Here it goes then…" She took a deep breath, and Sherlock wondered if he had the right idea of letting her tell him.

Maybe talking would make it worse. Why didn't he think of this before? He regretted making her talk even before she began speaking, but it was too late to stop her. There was always the outcome that she felt better. Sherlock decided to listen, no matter how boring it might be.

"I was sixteen. One night I had stayed out long after midnight wandering the city. I did that on numerous occasions, but this time was different. When I arrived home, my father would usually be up waiting for me. My parents never worried as long as I returned home, but this time he was nowhere to be found. I went to my mothers room and found no trace of her there either. I was panicking. I've been prone to panic attacks every now and then. In the silence that filled my house I had to suffer through the worst one yet. I was too worried about my parents that triggered it. By the time it was morning, my panic attack had ceased, but my parents were nowhere to be found." (F/N) had to pause for a moment, to calm her nerves and emotions. It was a few moments before she continued. "Once I had recovered fully, I searched the house. Eventually, I found them, but in the way that I feared. My parents were both dead, both of them were strung up by their necks on the rafter above…and bloody as if they had been stabbed…which I later found out to be true. Someone had killed my parents. Eventually the police had tracked down the killer and had them arrested, but ever since then silence has been my worst fear. Whenever it comes across I always think of my parents, and maybe someone else has died. That's why I became a detective. To help people. I don't want anybody else to go through what I did, and being a detective prevents the killer from murdering more. I guess the sociopath in me came after I was hired. From my determination it must've sprung up. "She paused again, looking up at Sherlock. "I must be boring you with my story. I'm sorry."

Sherlock shook his head. "No. I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you had such a dramatized past. You don't show it, so I wasn't able to figure it out."

(F/N) smiled for what seemed the first time in months. "Thanks for listening anyways Sherlock. I do feel a lot better." She said quietly.

He only nodded in acknowledgement, but also smiled. This girl's smiles were contagious.

And Sherlock didn't mind at all.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. I will mostly likely update this every week or so until it's caught up. Maybe even quicker if many people want to read more.   
> Leave a comment telling me what you thought, and thank you for the support!


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